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Ars Hermetica
"Mayday, maday! One of our engines is out. Were going down!" The voice of the pilot was frantic, even perhaps laced with a clear undertone of rising panic. The air tower took note of it and forwarded the communication to the Tower Commander quickly. The Commander, a one Thomas Redding, rushed to put on his headset and take over. When a pilot like Mark Appleton, whom was always made of steel emotionally even in the worst of situations, was losing control of himself the situation was beyond bad. Redding looked at the consol and spoke into the headset receiver. "Alpha Flight Zero-Oh-Six-Nine, your vector is off. Please adjust to bearing six-six-twelve." "We can't! Lightning strike on engine two. We're going down," came the nearly hysterical reply. Redding watched the passenger airline's vector continuing to sink, and could hear the grunts of the pilot and the weeping--female--in the background, through his headset. The plane was indeed going down, and if it stayed on the course it was in... My god. The plane will smash down right in the middle of Central City, Redding realized. His assumption was correct. As Flight 65, with 180 passengers aboard, had aligned itsekf to land in the airport the wing had been struck by a vicious bolt of lightning, taking the engine and a large portion of the wing with it. The plane was listing and rapidly losing altitude. The news crews were already at the airport, it hadn't taken them long to hear of the impending disaster and swarm to the site like ants on chocolate. The broadcast went out all over October City: the jet was goig to crash in the middle of Central City. Thousands of lives would be lost. Redding stared at his terminal, wracking his brain for how to get the plane safely down. To his horror, he was coming up empty on ideas. ### Dame Samantha threw open the outer attic door and stepped out onto the roof of the Chantry. The storm, a heaving monstrosity of lightning, thunder, and rain assailed her slight form at once; soaking her tee shirt and jeans to the skin within the space of two seconds and filling her steel-toed boots with water. Scowling, the Dame ignored the havoc the storm was playing with her clothes and hair and peered northward, squinting her eyes to see. Only just barely was she able to make out the intermitten flashing lights of the plane well off in the distance. She raised both hands, touching the ring finger on each hand to the thumb of each hand. Keeping her eyes locked onto the plane, she began to chant in Latin. ### "Mayday! Mayday! I'm going to try and put her down in the street as much as I can, Control. I need to know...what the hell?" Redding's head jerked up in surprise. "What's going on?" "Control, be advised that...course is correcting, hell if I know how. Our nose is lifting and we're staring to straighten out." Redding felt himself overcome with disbelief. Stunned, he looked at the monitor again as a dozen of his fellow tower directrs clustered around and behind him. All of them were filled with so much tension and gear for the plane that it was palpable. Redding checked and double checked. It was true. There, on the monitor, the airplane's vector coordinates were changing. The plane was lifting, and turning toward the airport. ### Dame Samantha allowed herself a small smile as she could see the plane changing course just as she had commanded it to do. Her chanting grew louder as she lifted both arms, transforming the forces acting on and against the airliner once more to ensure that the plane would stay aloft and on course. The storm roared a furious challenge to her and she shouted back, heaving her arms straight up and ignoring the icy stab of paradox running rampant through her. ### "This is Victoria Westbrook with KNBA News at Eleven. I'm standing here on the tarmac of October City airport where it appears a miracle has occured. If you've been following our broadcast, earlier this evening Flight 65 arriving from Las Vegas was struck by lightning, destroying one of the plane's engines and severely damaging the wing. The plane was reportedly going down, with one hundred eight passengers on board. "The Captain of Flight 65, Mark Apperton, is being hailed as a hero. Somehow, against all odds, Captain Apperton was able to straighten the plane out and bring it to a safe landing at the airport..." Pandora snorted softly as she listened to the news report coming through the television. She returned her attention to her work, towelling off Dame Samantha's hair. The Dame herself, now cozy in a thick white cotton bathrobe and warming herself with a cup of tea, smiled at the image of the plane being shown on the screen now, where passengers were getting off to the cheers of the news crews and local authorities whom had rushed to the plane once it stopped moving. "Good for him," the Dame said, mildly. "He deserves a medal for that." Pandora snorted again.